


#35 - Dance Alone

by angelsandbrowncoats



Series: Eurovision 2017 Fanfic Challenge [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Montparnasse is beaten close to death and is confused to wake on a couch in a weird apartmentPart of the Eurovsion 2017 Fanfiction Challenge to write stories based on each song. Stories are released based on my personal rankings of the songs.





	#35 - Dance Alone

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing, what does it look like?" the strange figure, distorted in his sleep-blurred vision responded.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jehan, dear," they replied, the serene voice unnatural to Montparnasse's ears. Everyone he dealt with was either intimidating or intimidated. Those were their only two emotions.

"Jehan, you are aware that there's no music, right?"

"Yes," Jehan answered, still unconcerned, "Are you going to ask where you are?"

"Good idea. Where am I?" he asked, realizing as his grogginess slowly cleared that he was lying on a couch in an unfamiliar apartment.

"My place."

"Oh that's so helpful," he rolled his eyes, "You do realize prisoners and hostages are supposed to be secured, right? Like tied down?"

"I'm aware. Why?"

"Because I'm not..?"

"Oh," this Jehan fellow hummed, "That would probably be because you're neither a prisoner nor a hostage. I mean, I could tie you down if you like?"

"Umm..." what the fuck. He still didn't know where he was, or who they were, and were they propositioning him?

"Just offering," they shrugged, "Do you like pancakes?"

"...yes?"

"Me too. I wish I had some."

Montparnasse closed his eyes. Maybe he'd died. Maybe he was in hell. He strained to recall what had last happened to him. He'd been meeting with someone for a "trade". He hadn't told the Patron Minette because he wanted the money to himself, but it seemed fate was punishing him for one of his many crimes because they had found out. Instead of the man he'd been supposed to meet, it had been them waiting for him at the prearranged location. _Oh_. Right. They had beaten the crap out of him, leaving him to bleed out in pain, collapsed against a condemned building. Maybe death was a valid explanation after all.

"How did I get here?"

"I found you in a dark alley. I thought you were dead, but then you groaned, presumably because you were in pain. Your insides were kind of on the outside."

"Then how am I here?"

"Well, I was with a few friends at the time. Two of them are doctors, and Bahorel managed to carry you up here once they stopped the blood. My place was closest, and I'm the only one who lives alone, so..."

"I see," so not dead. Probably. He still wasn't convinced that Jehan was a normal human. He seemed too... full of life.

"You're going to have to stay here awhile, unless you have someplace better to go," Jehan added, "You've lost too much blood and we don't exactly have a supply, so you're going to have to wait for it to regenerate naturally."

That raised a question, "Umm, why didn't you call an ambulance?"

"Well, it seemed improbable that legal reasons had brought you to be bleeding out in an alley, and well, our business in the area may not have been exactly 'legal' per se, either."

"You're a criminal?" he asked, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Well, no. But apparently civil disobedience isn't as acceptable as it ought to be..."

"Sure," Montparnasse didn't care to dissect that statement, "So you're totally fine with letting someone you think _is_ a criminal chill in your apartment while healing?"

"It depends."

"It depends on what?"

"On you. But I think you're alright."

Montparnasse snorted, "I've _killed_ people, kid. I'm a thief and a burglar and an arsonist and a cold-blooded killer. There's hardly a crime out there I _haven't_ committed."

"And yet I don't think you're going to harm me."

"And why not?"

"Well, for starters, if you try to stand up, you'll collapse and probably lose consciousness again," Jehan reminded him.

"True, but what about once I get better?"

"I dunno. It's just a feeling I have about you. And my instincts are very trustworthy," they nodded solemnly. He moved away, continuing to dance to inaudible music in his walk, "I'm going out to get some pancakes. I'll bring you back a few. You'll need to eat if you're going to recover. I'll bring you some raisins, too, they're supposed to have iron in them."

Montparnasse blinked as Jehan waltzed out the door. What an odd person. But, he realized, a part of him was already, impossibly, attached to them. He envied someone as in tune with life as that, and he wanted to share in that calm joy. He wanted that joy directed at him. Oh dear. Living here until he was strong enough to leave suddenly felt like both the best and the worst prospect. He hadn't had a schoolboy crush since he was, well, a schoolboy. How was he supposed to convince Jehan how cool he was in this state? It appeared as if fate hadn't finished punishing him yet.


End file.
